


Carrying the Banner

by TheJediAssassinGirl



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: All characters are based off of the Newsies Live show that was on Netflix, Andrew Keenan-Bolger is adorable, Jeremy Jordan is a god, M/M, That is all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-12 23:51:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 17,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18457169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheJediAssassinGirl/pseuds/TheJediAssassinGirl
Summary: Thalia Skywalker and Joey Borrelli, best friends and Newsies super fans, encounter some weird magic and are transported back to the 1899 newsboy strike. Friends are found, limits are tested, strikes are won, and history is made.





	1. Weird magic and Jack Kelly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which weird shit occurs

Thalia Skywalker and her best friend, Joey Borrelli, were walking down the streets of New York City, laughing and talking, singing scraps of showtunes as they walked back to their hotel from the theater, where they had just seen  _ Newsies. _ All of a sudden, the street lights went dark. So did the lights in the buildings. The two friends were plunged into pitch blackness. Thalia froze.

“Joey?” she called out hesitantly. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Joey said. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” Thalia replied. The pair stayed still for about five minutes to allow their eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness. The lights showed no sign of coming back on. They began walking again, this time more cautiously.

“What happened?” Joey asked, glancing around nervously. The streets of New York, which he knew well and loved, suddenly seemed unfriendly and dangerous.

“I dunno,” Thalia said, checking behind her to make sure no one was following them. “Some weird shit. Hey look, there’s a light ahead!” a light had appeared out of nowhere, just hanging about a foot off the ground. 

“It’s not a car,” Joey noted. “It isn’t getting any closer.”

“Let’s go check it out,” Thalia said. 

“Okay,” Joey said uncertainly. “But carefully.”

“Yeah,” Thalia agreed. They walked up to the glowing whatever-it-was. Thalia reached out a trembling hand to touch it. Joey grabbed her arm.

“What are you doing?!” he hissed. 

“I don’t know!” Thalia replied, a note of panic creeping into her voice. “I also don’t want me to do what I’m doing, but I can’t help it!” as soon as her fingertips came into contact with the light, there was a blinding flash. Both Joey and Thalia flung up their arms to shield their faces from the light, screwing their eyes shut. When they opened their eyes again, they were still in New York City, but it looked vastly different. The street lamps looked odd and archaic. The streets weren’t as well paved. The buildings were brick and stone instead of steel and glass. 

“What are you  _ wearing _ ?” Joey asked. Thalia looked down at herself. She wore a white dress shirt, a black and red plaid vest, a long skirt made out of the same material as the vest, and a pair of brown boots. 

“What am  _ I _ wearing?” she shot back. “What are  _ you _ wearing?” Joey was dressed in a grey dress shirt, a black vest, black trousers, and black dress shoes. A brown newsboy cap was perched atop his head. 

“Alright, Mr. History,” Thalia said after Joey had finished looking at his reflection in a store window. “What time period are we in?”

“Probably late 1800s to early 1900s,” Joey said. “I’d have to see a paper to know what year.”

“Let’s go find a paper, then,” Thalia said. As the pair began to walk, they heard a commotion in the square ahead. When they went to check it out, they found a group of boys dressed in clothes similar to Joey’s. The boys had canvas satchels slung across their bodies, and they were talking loudly, laughing and play fighting. One of the boys spotted Joey and Thalia.

“Hey Jack!” he yelled, jerking his head in their direction. A boy who was standing off to the side, who seemed to be the leader of the group, sauntered over to Joey and Thalia. He had tan skin, dark eyes, a square jaw, and tousled brown hair. He wore a blue shirt, a dark grey vest and trousers, and a grey newsboy cap. He didn’t quite look like Jeremy Jordan, but there was definitely a resemblance. He was taller than both Joey and Thalia, with broad shoulders and a muscular body.

“Who’re you?” he demanded, glaring down at the two of them suspiciously. Thalia elbowed Joey, who had been staring at the boy. Joey started, then seemed to regain his senses.

“I’m Joey Borrelli,” he said, slipping effortlessly into a New York accent. The boy nodded. 

“Who’s she?” he asked.

“I can speak for myself!” Thalia shot back. “I’m Thalia Skywalker.” the boy fixed his dark, piercing stare on Thalia. Thalia held his gaze unflinchingly.

“You ain’t from around here,” he said in an accusatory tone. “Where’re ya from?”

“St. Louis,” Thalia replied. 

“Missouri?” the boy asked. 

“Yeah,” Thalia replied. “Who’re you?” the boy looked annoyed at her forwardness.

“Jack Kelly,” he said. “I’m here to keep these morons in line. Whaddya want?”

“We wanna sell papes,” Joey said. 

“Her too?” Jack asked. 

“Yes, me too,” Thalia said, irritated. Jack glared at her. 

“You got any experience sellin’ papes?” He asked.

“No,” Joey said. 

“I’ll pair ya up with one a my guys then,” Jack said. “Hey, Crutchie!” Another boy limped over to the trio, a crude crutch under his arm. He was dressed in a grey shirt, a brown plaid vest, and brown pants. He wore a brown newsboy cap backwards over his dirty blond hair, and he grinned brightly at Thalia and Joey. 

“Yeah, Jack?” He asked.

“You’s gonna be sellin’ with Borrelli here today,” Jack told him. “He’s new, so show ‘im the ropes.” 

“You bet!” Crutchie said enthusiastically. 

“You,” Jack continued, pointing at Thalia. “You’ll be with me.”

“Oh joy,” Thalia muttered sarcastically. Jack glared at her, but before they could start fighting, a bell rang. A wagon piled high with papers rolled into the square, and three well-dressed men in bowler hats jumped down. Jack tossed a canvas bag to Joey and Thalia.

“Come on,” he said tersely. “Time ta get ya papes. It’s fifty cents per hundred.” He eyed Thalia. “You better start with fifty.” Thalia bristled, but Jack ignored her and got in line with the others. Thalia checked the pockets of her skirt. Thankfully, whatever weird magic had sent her and Joey here had sent them with plenty of change. She pulled out a quarter and put it in the box like Jack had done before her. One of the two identical men in bowler hats sneered at her. 

“How’s a girl gonna sell papes?” He jeered. “You gonna flash your tits at folks to get ‘em to buy?”

“Lay off her, DeLancey,” Jack snapped, surprising Thalia. “What’s it matter how she sells the papes, as long as she gets em sold?” The two glared at each other until the man slammed down fifty papers in front of Thalia. As soon as Thalia got the papers in her bag, Jack set off. Being much shorter, Thalia had to trot to catch up with him. 

“Where are we going?” She asked. 

“Missionary box,” Jack said. “You need some new clothes.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Thalia asked.

“They make ya look like a girl,” Jack said. 

“So what? I am a girl!” Thalia said. Jack spun around.

“Look,” he said. “I dunno how things work in St. Louis, but you saw how DeLancey talked to ya. ‘Round here, most folks don’t think girls are good for nothin’. If you want any respect, you’ll need to look like the rest a us.” He walked up behind a church, and opened up a box labeled “for those in need.” He pulled out a shirt, trousers, a vest, and a cap, and tossed them to Thalia.

“Go get changed in the alley,” he said. “Tuck your hair up under the cap or somethin’.” Thalia changed and transferred her pocket change to her pants pockets. She tucked her long black hair up under her cap, put her old clothes in her bag, slung the bag back across her body, and then went back to where Jack was waiting. He looked her up and down critically.

“Well, they don’t exactly fit right,” he said. “But then, none a ours really do. You look like one a us. Come on.” He started off again, and Thalia was forced to trot again to keep up. 

“Take out a pape from your bag,” Jack said. “What’s the headline?” 

“Uhhhhhh…” Thalia said, looking at the page. “There’s a trolley workers’ strike.”

“Huh,” Jack mused. “Well, that’s somethin’. Now what ya do to sell the papes is ya just yell the headlines. Ya gotta be assertive or else no one’s gonna listen.” The pair reached the spot where Jack usually sold. For never having done anything like this before, Thalia was surprisingly good at selling papers. She had just the right blend of assertiveness and charm, and an impressive set of pipes to match. She quickly sold out of the fifty papers she had paid for, so Jack gave her twenty of his hundred. 

“Y’know, you ain’t half bad at this,” Jack said as they walked back to the lodging house where the newsies slept. 

“Oh wow, high praise from the master,” Thalia teased, grinning. Jack rolled his eyes but allowed himself a smile. As they walked, a figure stepped out of an alleyway in front of them. It was one of the DeLancey brothers, the one who had insulted Thalia earlier that day.

“Well, well, well,” he sneered, looking Thalia up and down. “Look who got herself a little costume change. It don’t matter. I know the truth.” He leaned in, his face inches from Thalia’s. “And I’ll be sure to tell everyone in this godforsaken city your little secret.” Jack lunged forward, intending to give the stuck-up, pasty-pale little rat the worst walloping he’d ever have, but Thalia beat him to it. Her fist slammed across the DeLancey brother’s face, and soon she’d tossed her bag aside and the two were all-out fighting. Thalia was faring a lot better than DeLancey was. He’d only managed to hit her in the underside of the jaw and kick her in the side, while she’d delivered him a bloody nose, a black eye, and a knee to the groin. Jack grabbed her shoulder. 

“C’mon, Skywalker,” he said. “Ya taught him a lesson. We don’t need ta be concernin’ ourselves with scum like him.” Thalia shot one last glare at DeLancey, and then she picked up her bag and followed Jack. They stopped at a bakery on their way, where the owner greeted Jack like an old friend and gave them the bread that he hadn’t been able to sell that day. Jack tipped his cap to the man as they left, and Thalia did the same. Finally, they arrived at the lodging house, exhausted. 

“Hey, Jack’s here!” A boy with an unlit cigar in his mouth said. The other boys cheered. Crutchie came limping forward, Joey at his side. 

“How’d he do?” Jack asked Crutchie as Joey and Thalia hugged. 

“Real great!” Crutchie replied. “He’s like me. We both got poisonality!” 

“Good ta hear,” Jack said with a chuckle.

“How’d she do?” Crutchie asked. 

“She ain’t half bad,” Jack said. 

“How’d it go with Jack?” Joey asked Thalia. 

“Not too bad, actually,” Thalia said. “I think he at least respects me now. Had to beat up a DeLancey, though.”

“What?!” Joey asked.

“Yeah. You know the one who was being a sexist asshole to me this morning? Well, when we were coming back here, he came out of the alley and said that even though I had a costume change, he knew my secret and he was gonna tell everyone. So I decked him.”

“You did  _ not _ .”

“I did! You know I’m ready to fight 100% of the time!”

“He’s going to get you for that.”

“I’d like to see ‘im try,” Jack said, coming up behind Thalia and putting a hand on her shoulder. “We gots a damn good fighter here. Gave DeLancey a bloody nose an’ a black eye an’ a smashed groin. He won’t be messin’ with ‘er again anytime soon.” Jack took a small loaf of bread out of his bag, tore it in half, and gave one piece to Joey and one to Thalia. “Welcome to the family,” he said. “There ain’t any more actual beds, but we got plenty a old mattresses an’ blankets. It ain’t no mansion, but it’s clean. Not like the Refuge.” Thalia and Joey were surprised to see the seemingly rock-solid boy shudder. Those in earshot flinched.

“The Refuge?” Joey asked, though he was sure he already knew the answer. “What’s that?”

“They calls it an “orphanage for wayward boys,” but it ain’t,” Jack said. “It’s a goddamned prison in there. There’s rats an’ vermin everywhere, an’ there ain’t enough beds for all of the boys, so they’s all crammed in there like sardines. Ya do anythin’ they don’t like, ya get beat. There’s supposed to be state money goin’ in there for upkeep a the place, but it just goes straight into Snyder’s pockets. He’s the fella who runs it.”

“Have you all been in there?” Joey asked. 

“Most a us,” Jack said. “And we’s doin’ everythin’ we can to stay outta there.” he straightened up. “Anyways, ya don’t hafta worry about that. Now that you’s one a us, you gots protection. We looks after each other. Sticks together. We’s a family, and family don’t let family go to hell without a fight. Now come on. I’ll introduce ya to the others.”


	2. A request

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Oscar DeLancey is an asshole

As Thalia and Joey were being led around to the lodging house, getting to know the other newsies, on the other side of the city, something was brewing. Oscar DeLancey, who had just received a pounding from some little upstart paper “boy,” came staggering into the plush offices of Joseph Pulitzer, banging open the large oak doors. His nose was streaming blood, despite his best efforts to staunch it with a handkerchief, and he had a black eye. He was in rough shape. Pulitzer’s secretary came rushing in after him.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Pulitzer,” she said hurriedly. “I told him you were not to be disturbed, but he just barged in. I shall escort him out at once.” Pulitzer waved his hand dismissively.

“No need, Hannah,” he said. “I shall speak to him. You may go back to your desk.”

“Yes, sir,” Hannah replied, hurrying out of the room.

“Oscar,” Pulitzer said. “You look vexed. What seems to be the problem?” “Vexed” was a gross understatement. Oscar DeLancey was thoroughly disheveled. 

“That upstart Jack Kelly’s got two more boys workin’ for him,” Oscar spat. It would have been easy to reveal the girl’s secret now, but there was no way he was going to mention he got beaten up by a girl. “One a them beat me up.”

“Well, I can see that,” Pulitzer said coolly. “I don’t know what you expect me to do about it.”

“I want you ta punish those little rodents,” Oscar growled. “I want there ta be consequences!”

“You know I have limited power,” Pulitzer said. “I cannot call the police on them, for they have not committed any crime.”

“You can make their lives miserable,” Oscar said. “You can make them wish they’d never been born. Do whatever’s in your power!” Pulitzer stood up from his chair. 

“You are forgetting who is in power here, Mr. DeLancey,” he said, his voice low and threatening. “I will consider your request. Now, you go get yourself cleaned up. I will still expect you to be on the job tomorrow.” Not wanting to see what happened if he stuck around, Oscar reluctantly left the office.


	3. Miss Medda Larkin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack Kelly is a dramatic little shit

The next evening, after all the newsies had eaten, Jack walked up to Joey and Thalia, who were sitting on their mattresses. 

“Hey,” he said. “I gotta errand ta do, and I want the two a you to come with me ta do it.”

“Okay,” Thalia said. She and Joey got up, put their shoes on, and followed Jack out into the cool evening air. He led them through the streets of New York until they reached a large building that with a marquee that read “Theatre Extraordinaire.” Jack opened the front door, and Joey and Thalia followed him into the building. Judging by its peeling paint and faded gold leafing, the theater had seen better days, but it was still a lush, grand space. They saw two girls onstage in rather skimpy outfits, singing and dancing. Jack led Joey and Thalia backstage.

“Wait here,” he whispered. “An’ don’t make no noise, ya hear?” Thalia and Joey, who had done theater for a good portion of their lives and who knew better than to make noise and disrupt the performance, nodded. Jack walked out into the middle of the spacious backstage area. 

“Miss Medda?” He whispered as loud as he dared. There was a rustling of skirts, and a tall plump black woman came out of one of the wings. She wore a magnificent pink silk gown covered in beautiful embroidery and sparkling rhinestones. The biggest, grandest hat that Thalia and Joey had ever seen was perched atop her dark hair. She wore a pearl necklace, diamond earrings, and a glittering bracelet on each wrist. 

“Jack Kelly, is that you? She asked.

“Sure is, Miss Medda,” Jack replied, grinning. The woman hugged him tight. 

“You’ve been away for far too long, young man,” she reprimanded gently. “You know there ain’t no one else in this city who can paint sets like you can.”

“Sorry, Miss Medda,” Jack said sheepishly. “I’ve had ta make sure the idiots didn’t do anythin’ stupid. But here I am, and I brought help.” He motioned to Thalia and Joey, who went and joined him.

“Who’s this?” Miss Medda asked, smiling at the two. 

“This is Borrelli an’ Skywalker,” Jack said. “They’s new. Skywalker, Borrelli, this is Miss Medda Larkin, owner and star a Theatre Extraordinaire.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Joey and Thalia said politely, shaking Miss Medda’s hand. 

“The pleasure’s all mine, dears,” Miss Medda said, shaking Joey and Thalia’s hands. “And please, just call me Miss Medda. All the young hooligans in this city do. You gonna help paint some sets for me?” Thalia and Joey glanced at Jack, who nodded. 

“Apparently,” Thalia said.

“Jack didn’t actually tell us where we were going and what we were gonna do,” Joey added. “He just said he had an errand and that we were goin’ with.” Miss Medda laughed.

“It’s a wonder you didn’t become an actor, Jack Kelley,” she said. “You certainly do have a flair for the dramatic.” Jack grinned and shrugged. 

“Maybe later, Miss Medda,” he said. “I got a bunch a idiots ta keep track of currently. What do you need us ta paint?” 

“Mountains,” Miss Medda said. “And a forest at sunset.”

“So basically,” Thalia mumbled to Joey. “Just follow every Bob Ross tutorial you’ve ever watched.” Joey giggled.

“Supplies are where they always are,” Miss Medda continued. “Come find me when you’re done, and I’ll pay you the normal rate.”

“Thanks, Miss Medda,” Jack said. He led Thalia and Joey down into the basement of the theater, where there were paint cans and brushes laying around in a glorious artsy mess. “What do you two wanna do?” Jack asked. 

“I’ll do the mountains,” Thalia said. 

“Me, too,” Joey added. 

“Alright, I’ll do the forest, then,” Jack said. The three painted for about two hours, then they collected their money--a dollar each--from Miss Medda and headed back to the lodging house. 

“Hey, follow me,” Jack told them.

“Where are we going?” Joey asked. 

“Just trust me,” Jack said, pulling the ladder of the lodging house’s fire escape down and beginning to climb. “C’mon.” Joey glanced at Thalia, who shrugged. They followed Jack, who led them up to the roof and leaned on the fence. Thalia and Joey joined him, looking out at the city of New York, it’s twinkling lights spread out before them like a beautiful blanket.

“Pretty, ain’t it?” Jack asked. “It’s views like this that almost make ya forget what a shithole this city really is.” he sighed. “I wanna leave,” he said. “I wanna get outta here an’ go to—”

“Santa Fe,” Joey interrupted. Jack looked surprised. 

“Yeah,” he said. “How’d ya know?”

“Oh! Um…” Joey fumbled. “Crutchie told me.” Jack seemed to accept this.

“It’s paradise out there,” he said. “Open air, nature, buildings made outta clay. It’s beautiful, and everything’s fresh an’ clean, an’ ya don’t have ta rely on other folks ta make a livin’. It’s what keeps me goin’ day after day. I got nothin’ if I ain’t got Santa Fe.”

“I hope you get there someday,” Thalia said. Jack grinned. 

“Thanks,” he said. “We should get ta sleep, though. C’mon.”


	4. Delegating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a plan is set in motion

The next day, as the Newsies went to buy their papers, Jack, Joey, and Thalia lagged behind. As the group reached the square, the boys in front stopped. Jack pushed his way to the front. 

“Hey, what’s goin’ on?” he demanded. “What’s the holdup?” Race pointed to a large wooden sign hanging from a post right above where Wiesel and the DeLanceys sold papers to the newsies. 

“PAPERS ARE NOW 60¢ PER HUNDRED,” the sign proclaimed. 

“They’s jokin’,” Jack said. “It’s just a practical joke the DeLanceys are playin’ on us.” When Wiesel and the DeLanceys showed up with the wagon, everyone lined up as usual, with Jack in the front. He put his fifty cents in the tin, but Wiesel grabbed his wrist.

“Can you read, boy?” Wiesel asked. Jack tried to yank his wrist free, but Wiesel held him fast.

“Yeah, I can read,” he growled. “Let go a me!” Still, Wiesel held him in place. 

“Read the sign,” He said. 

“Papes are now 60¢ per hundred,” Jack read. 

“Right,” Wiesel said, finally letting go of Jack. “So I’ll need another dime from you.”

“Like hell!” Jack spat. “We’ll go to the  _ Journal _ . Sell for them.”

“Good luck with that, Kelly,” Oscar DeLancey sneered. “Their price is the same as ours!”

“We’ll go to the  _ Sun _ , then,” Jack said.

“Theirs is the same too,” Morris DeLancey taunted. “Every paper in this city’s got the same price on it.” Jack stormed away, and the rest of the newsies gathered around him.

“What’re we gonna do, Jack?” Crutchie asked. Everyone looked at Jack. Jack didn’t seem to have any answers.

“We could strike,” Thalia suggested.

“What?” Jack asked.

“Strike. Like the trolley workers are doing,” Thalia said. “We refuse to sell papes until the price is lowered.”

“But if it’s gonna be effective, we need everyone ta do it,” Joey added. “All the newsboys in the area.” Jack nodded. 

“I’ll send boys out ta talk ta the other newsies,” he said. He quickly got others to go to the Bronx, Harlem, Flushing, and other newsie groups around New York. “Alright, who wants ta go to Brooklyn an’ talk to Spot Conlon?” he asked. Everyone glanced at each other nervously. No one volunteered. “Aw, c’mon,” Jack said. “You’s a bunch a cowards, all a you. Brooklyn ain’t that bad.”

“Nah, Brooklyn’s fine,” Elmer piped up. “It’s just that Spot Conlon makes me noivous.” 

“Why don’t you go, Race?” Albert asked, shooting a mischievous grin at the other boy. “You an’ Spot can have smoochy time.” 

“Shut up, Al,” Race shot back, chucking his bag at Albert’s head.

“We haven’t got all day, fellas,” Wiesel said. “Are you gonna be buying papers or not?”

“No,” Thalia said. “We’re not.” Wiesel shrugged.

“Suit yourselves,” he said, and he and the DeLanceys started packing up.

“Look,” Jack said, exasperated. “If none a you morons are man enough to go ta Brooklyn and just have a goddamn  _ talk _ with Spot Conlon, then I’ll go myself!”

“Joey and I will go with you,” Thalia said. 

“Thank you,” Jack said. “Finally, someone who’s not a coward in this place.” he glared at the other boys. “Well?!” he demanded. “What’re you all waitin’ for? Get goin’!” the newsies scattered. 


	5. Spot Conlon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thalia narrowly avoids a fight

Thalia and Joey followed Jack, and with his help, they jumped onto the back of a passing carriage. They rode the carriage to the Brooklyn Bridge, where they then hopped onto a freight train that was going across the bridge. Once they were across, Joey and Thalia hurried after Jack as he confidently navigated the complex grid of streets.  
“When we meet with Spot, let me do the talkin’,” Jack told them as they walked. “No offense, but I gots experience dealin’ with him, and you two don’t.” Joey and Thalia nodded. Suddenly, a boy appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and stood in front of the trio.  
“Whadda you want?” he demanded. He was tall, just an inch or two shorter than Jack, and just as muscular. He had blue eyes, tan skin covered in grime, and brown hair. Jack was unfazed. He crossed his arms and stared straight back at the boy.  
“We need ta see Spot,” he said.  
“What for?” the boy asked.  
“None a your business,” Jack replied. “Just go get your asshole leader, will ya?” the two glared at each other for a moment, then the boy ran off and came back roughly five minutes later with another boy. This boy looked to be only about half an inch taller than Thalia, but he was muscular, more so than both his friend and Jack. He had tan skin, dark eyes, and dark brown hair. There was a dusting of freckles across his nose. He wore a sleeveless red shirt, red suspenders, a grey cap, and dark grey trousers, and he did not look pleased to see Jack. The two squared off, each mirroring the other’s pose: arms crossed, chest puffed, feet spread, like they were ready for a fight. They glared at each other.  
“You can go now,” Spot Conlon told his friend, not taking his eyes off of Jack’s. The other boy nodded and ran off.  
“Conlon,” Jack said.  
“Kelly,” Spot replied. “Whadda you want?”  
“Your help,” Jack said. Spot raised an eyebrow.  
“My help?” he asked.  
“Yeah,” Jack said. “You probably know that Pulitzer’s got all the papes in the city to raise their price to 60¢.”  
“Yeah,” Spot said. “So what?”  
“So we’s strikin’,” Jack said. “We ain’t sellin’ papes-- for the World or anyone else. An’ we want you an’ your boys ta strike with us.” Spot was silent for a while.  
“So lemme get this straight,” he said finally. “You want me and my boys ta stop workin’-- stop makin’ the money that we need ta stay alive, so you can prove a point?”  
“No,” Jack said. “Not so we can prove a point. So we can get Pulitzer to see sense an’ lower the price so we can actually make the money to stay alive. At 60¢ per hundred, we gotta sell ten more papes than normal just ta make the same amount. It ain’t fair, and it’s just makin’ Pulitzer richer.”  
“An’ you’s confident that this is a fight you’ll win?” Spot asked.  
“We ain’t gonna win this without your help!” Jack cried. “Christ’s sake, that’s why I’m askin’ you in the first place! It sure ain’t because of your sunny personality!”  
“Watch it, Kelly,” Spot said, an edge to his voice now. “you’s on my turf, not yours. Insult me again, and I’ll beat ya to a pulp.”  
“You touch him and I’ll deck you,” Thalia threatened, stepping in front of Jack. Spot glanced at her braid, which Thalia had forgotten to tuck into her cap, then glared at her.  
“You really think you’ll stand a chance against me, little girl?” he said derisively.  
“You’re literally a half inch taller than I am,” Thalia shot back. “I don’t think you can go “little girl”-ing me.” Spot took a step towards her.  
“I can do whatever I want,” he growled. “This is my city.”  
“Try me!” Thalia hissed. Jack hauled Thalia back by the collar of her shirt before the two could exchange blows.  
“That’s enough, Skywalker,” he said. He looked at Spot. “You gonna help us or not?” he asked  
“I’ll think about it,” Spot said. “Now get out!”  
“Sorry,” Thalia said sheepishly as the trio walked back towards the Brooklyn Bridge.  
“Nah, it’s fine,” Jack said. “Shoulda known somethin’ like that’d happen. But trust me, you do not wanna fight Spot Conlon.”  
“He’s just a half-inch taller than me,” Thalia said. “I’ve beat guys taller than that before. I bet I could take him.”  
“It ain’t about height,” Jack said. “Ain’t about gender neither. Spot Conlon fights like a drunk Irishman in a pub brawl.” Thalia and Joey glanced at each other.  
“Is that a compliment or an insult?” Thalia asked. “Neither us have ever seen a drunk Irishman in a pub brawl.” Jack chuckled.  
“Here’s the thing about Irishmen,” he said as they hopped aboard another freighter headed across the Brooklyn Bridge. “Most other folks get worse at fightin’ the more drinks they’ve had, but not Irishmen. They’re built different than the rest a us. The more drinks ya give an Irishman, the better they fight. A piss drunk Irishman could beat the entire United States army singlehanded. I ain’t never seen Spot Conlon lose in a fight. That’s why everyone’s scared a him. Well, that, and the fact that his temper’s shorter than he is.” They reached the lodging house and stepped inside.  
“Well?” Jack asked, looking around at the crowd of boys. “Is anyone else gonna help us?” the boys shook their heads.  
“All of ‘em wanna see what Brooklyn’s gonna do,” Elmer said.  
“Well, Harlem’s in!” Albert said. Everyone cheered. “…as long as Spot Conlon’s doin’ it.” Albert finished. Everyone groaned.  
“So what happens now?” Jack asked Joey and Thalia.  
“Well, we haven’t actually declared that we were striking yet,” Thalia said. “So that’s what we do tomorrow. We tell Wiesel and the DeLanceys that we’re not gonna be selling papes until Pulitzer lowers the price. Then we demonstrate. Make signs and stuff, and keep any strikebreakers that Pulitzer might hire from breaking the strike.”  
“We can get old scraps a wood from crates an’ stuff,” Crutchie said.  
“An’ I’m sure Miss Medda will let us use her paints,” Race added. “‘Specially if Jack’s the one askin’. She likes Jack.” Jack looked around at the rest of the newsies.  
“Well, what’re you all waitin’ for?” he asked. “Go find supplies! we’s doin’ this, and we’s doin’ it for real!”


	6. Strike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet a certain reporter

The next day, the newsies reached the square just as the circulation bell was ringing. Wiesel and the DeLanceys were waiting behind the stacks of papers, as usual.  
“‘Bout time,” Wiesel said. “Line on up. You’ve got some catching up to do from yesterday.”  
“We ain’t sellin’, Wiesel,” Jack said. “Not until Pulitzer lowers the price.”  
“Excuse me?” Wiesel asked.  
“You heard me,” Jack replied. “We’s strikin’ until Pulitzer puts the price a papes back at fifty cents per hundred.” Wiesel shrugged.  
“Suit yourself,” he said. The newsies stayed in the square all day, brandishing signs and telling passersby about the strike. Around midday, Thalia and Joey were sitting on a pile of upturned crates, watching the semi-organized chaos unfold around them.  
“Excuse me, sirs!” a voice called from below. A young woman, around Thalia, and Joey’s age, but perhaps a year or two older, stood on the pavement, clutching a notebook and pencil. She had shoulder-length, reddish-brown hair and fair skin. She wore a white dress shirt, a blue tie with pink polka dots, and a skirt and vest made of the same pink plaid material with blue edging.  
“My name is Katherine Plumber,” she said. “I’m a reporter for the _Sun_ , and I’m writing a story on the strike. Do you guys have a leader or anything who I can talk to?”  
“Uh, yeah!” Joey said, pointing in Jack’s direction. “He’s over there. His name’s Jack Kelly.”  
“He’s the big beefcake wearing the blue shirt,” Thalia added helpfully.  
“Big beefcake, blue shirt,” Katherine mumbled. “Okay, got it! Thank you!” she hurried off in the direction that Joey had pointed her in, followed by a large man holding a camera. For the rest of the afternoon, Katherine flitted around the square, talking to the boys about the strike.  
“Okay, we’re going to get a picture now!” she called. “Smile for the camera!”  
“Shit!” Thalia hissed. “Joey, we shouldn’t be photographed! We’re time travelers, even though we don’t mean to be!”  
“Gosh, you’re right!” Joey said. He and Thalia tried to move out of the view of the camera, but Jack grabbed their arms.  
“Where do you two think you’s goin’?” he asked, grinning. “This whole thing was your idea. C’mon!” With Jack’s arms around their shoulders, Thalia and Joey had no choice but to stand front and center and grin as the camera emitted a blinding flash. Satisfied, Katherine and the photographer left the square. Katherine waved cheerily to the newsies as she left. Jack watched her go, an idiotic grin on his face. Thalia had to elbow him in the ribs before he straightened up.  
“Huh?” he said, blinking.  
“It’s getting dark,” Thalia said. “We should get going back to the lodging house.”  
“Yeah, alright,” Jack said.  
“Are you good?” Thalia asked.  
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Jack said. “Hey, were you the one who told Katherine I was the big beefcake in the blue shirt?” Thalia grinned mischievously.  
“Yeah, that was me,” she said. Jack rolled his eyes and lightly punched her shoulder as she laughed.


	7. Disaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which shit goes south

The next morning, all of the newsies were buzzing with excitement as they prepared to go out and protest again.

“Hey, listen up!” Thalia yelled. Despite her impressive set of pipes, she was having trouble being heard over the cacophonous din in the lodging house.

“SHUT UP, YA MORONS!” Jack yelled. “SKYWALKER’S TRYIN’ TA TALK!” the boys quieted down. 

“Thanks, Jack,” Thalia said. “Now that Pulitzer knows we’re striking, he will probably have hired strikebreakers to sell papers and essentially make our strike useless. If we encounter these strikebreakers, it’s important to use reason to try and get them to not break our strike. As long as we don’t initiate violence, what we’re doing is perfectly legal, so don’t hit anyone unless it’s in self defense. Now let’s go show Pulitzer who’s boss!” The newsies cheered. As they moved through the streets of New York from the lodging house to the square, Thalia couldn’t help but be reminded of an army marching to war. When the circulation bell ran, a line of boys dressed in plain clothing and carrying bags walked up to the wagon. Jack blocked their way, trying to talk them out of it. As the boys threw down their bags one by one, Thalia caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of her eye. She looked, and saw a number of policemen, nightsticks brandished. 

“Jack,” she hissed, tugging on his vest and pointing to the police. Jack walked up to one of the officers.

“What’s the problem, officer?” he asked. “We ain’t hurtin’ nobody. This is all legal.”

“Oh it would be, mr. Kelly.” a voice that could only be described as oily came out of a dark alley. A large, broad-shouldered man in a suit and a brown hat stepped out of the shadows. Jack stepped back, his confident expression fading quickly. Fear rippled through the newsies. 

“Snyder!” 

“It’s Snyder the Spider!”

“How’d he know about this?!”

“It would be perfectly legal, mr. Kelly,” Snyder said, grinning. “Except you are an escaped convict, which makes this whole operation highly  _ il _ legal. Get them, boys!” the police closed in, and the square devolved into chaos. Newsies were fighting for their lives and trying to flee. Amidst the chaos, two cops grabbed Crutchie’s arms, cuffing them behind his back. They began dragging him towards a carriage with iron bars across the windows.

“NO!” Joey yelled. He charged the men, but two more officers grabbed his arms and forced him to his knees, cuffing him as well and dragging him towards the paddywagon.

“Joey!” Thalia cried, running towards her friend. She was almost there when a club caught her in the stomach, and she fell to the pavement. Dazed, she looked up just in time to see Joey disappear into the paddywagon. She tried to push herself up, but a foot struck her chest, knocking her to the ground once more. The DeLancey brothers towered over her, evil grins on their faces. 

“I’ll teach ya to beat me up, ya little rat!” Oscar spat, bringing his foot down towards her face. Thalia barely managed to roll out of the way, the foot striking her shoulder instead. The DeLanceys fell on her, punching and kicking every inch of her they could reach. Lying prone, Thalia was mostly helpless to do anything about it. Suddenly, the DeLanceys were thrown off of her. Jack scooped her up in his arms and took off running. 

“C’mon!” He yelled to the others, who followed. 

“Should we give chase, sir?” A policeman asked Snyder.

“No,” Snyder said, a smug grin on his face. “I think they’ve learned their lesson.”

Jack and the rest of the newsies congregated in an alleyway a couple blocks from the square. 

“They ain’t followin’ us,” Elmer reported. 

“Good,” Jack said. He gently set Thalia back onto her feet. “You alright?” He asked, concern in his dark brown eyes as he looked at Thalia’s bruised face. Thalia had never felt less alright in her life, but she nodded. 

“I’m fine,” she said. “Thanks for helping me.”

“It ain’t nothin’,” Jack replied. “I told you we’s a family, and family looks out for each other.” He looked around at the beaten-down group. They were all looking at him.

“What now, Jack?” Buttons asked, clutching Elmer’s hand tightly. 

“We can’t go back to the lodging house,” Race said. “They know we live there. It ain’t safe. Where are we gonna go?”

“Miss Medda’s got rooms up above her theater,” Jack said. “We’ll stay there for now.”

“Wait, where are Joey and Crutchie?” Thalia asked, her eyes scanning the crowd and noticing two missing figures. Jack flinched.

“They’re gone,” he said. “I tried to get to ‘em, but there were five cops surroundin’ the wagon. I couldn’t get through. It’s my fault. I’m sorry.” Thalia struggled to keep her face impassive. 

“Let’s go to Miss Medda’s,” she said, her voice shaking. “We can figure things out from there.” Jack allowed her to use him as a crutch as the ragtag team of strikers limped to Miss Medda’s.

“Glory me!” Miss Medda exclaimed as the boys and Thalia entered the theater. “What happened to you all?” Jack reluctantly related the story of the day’s failure to Miss Medda. 

“Can we stay here?” He asked. “We’ll clean an’ build sets an’ paint an’ do other chores for ya. We won’t be a bother, I promise.”

“Child, you could tell me that you intended to do nothing but sit around all day and eat me outta house and home, and I’d still let you stay here!” Miss Medda exclaimed. “Come on, I’ll get all of you cleaned and bandaged up. Follow me!” The boys all muttered their thanks and followed Miss Medda upstairs, where she showed the their rooms and used the first aid training that she’d gotten years ago to patch them up as best she could. Despite being heavily bruised, with a cut across his brow, Jack wouldn’t let Miss Medda tend to him until she’d helped the rest. Finally, he allowed her to guide him into a room, where he sat down on the bed and let out a strangled sob, one that he’d been holding in since the paddywagon drove off with Crutchie and Joey inside. 

“There there, dear,” Miss Medda said, rubbing Jack’s back as she dabbed at the cut above his eye with a damp cloth. “It’s gonna be alright, trust me.”

“It’s my fault!” Jack choked out. “I shoulda never gone an’ talked to that cop! And it’s cuz a me that the damn thing was illegal in the first place! Now Crutchie an’ Joey are in the Refuge, my boys are all hurt, an’ the DeLanceys thrashed Thalia within an inch of her life, an’ it’s all my goddamn fault! They were dependin’ on me to lead ‘em, and boy did I ever lead ‘em! Good ol’ captain Jack led em’ right into a trap cuz he was too dumb to see it himself!” Tears flooded down his face as he cried, not caring who saw him. He felt like a complete and utter failure. 

“Now you listen to me, Jack Kelly,” Miss Medda said. “First of all, blow your nose. You’re makin’ a mess.” Jack took the handkerchief she gave him and blew his nose. “So you messed up,” Miss Medda continued. “So what? Everyone’s done it.”

“But—” Jack began, but Miss Medda cut him off.

“But me no buts, young man,” she said sternly. “I know this feels more important because you were supposed to lead all of them into battle, but you ain’t a general. You ain’t infallible. You’re a kid, and you’re a human, and humans fail. You can’t change the past, all you can do is make sure this don’t happen again in the future, alright?” Jack wiped his nose again. 

“Alright,” he said. 

“Good,” Miss Medda said. “Now hold still an’ let me fix up that cut.”

“Yes, Miss Medda,” Jack replied obediently.


	8. The Refuge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Joey gets slapped

Joey was terrified. The interior of the paddywagon was dark. There was just barely enough light for Joey to see Crutchie leaned up against a wall, bruises already starting to form on his eye and his jaw.

“You ok, Joey boy?” Crutchie asked, giving Joey a small, reassuring smile.

“I think so,” Joey said. “What about you?”

“I think I’ll be alright,” Crutchie said. “We’ll protect each other. That’s what we do.” The wagon stopped moving. The door swung open and Joey and Crutchie were hauled out. Crutchie stumbled, his namesake crutch having been left in the square. One of the policemen flanking the boys caught him and gave him a shove. 

“Get a move on, boy,” he snarled. “Don’t try anythin’ funny.”

“He’s got a bum leg!” Joey protested. “He can’t walk without a crutch!” The policeman turned and gave Joey a stinging slap across the face, causing Joey to see stars. 

“I didn’t ask you,” he spat. “Keep your mouth shut until I ask you a question.” Joey nodded, and moved over a bit so that Crutchie could lean on him for a little support. Crutchie gave him a grateful smile. The pair was led into the refuge. Inside, it was dark. The only light came from the grimy windows and two sputtering candles. It reeked of shit and urine, and Joey was sure he could see shadows skittering across the floor. He shuddered. Having spent much of his life in New York City, Joey wasn’t really grossed out by rats, he just didn’t like them to be indoors.

“Welcome to your new home, boys!” Snyder said as the cops removed the cuffs from Joey and Crutchie’s wrists. “We’ll tell you when mealtimes are, and if it’s not a mealtime, you stay in your bed and try not to let the rats get you. Step out of line, and you’ll be punished. Understand?”

“Yes sir,” Joey mumbled. 

“Good,” Snyder said. “Follow me.” He led Joey and Crutchie through the Refuge. The smell got worse and worse the further in they went. Joey could feel hundreds of eyes on him as he walked past row upon row of bunk beds, Crutchie’s arm around his shoulder as he used Joey as a crutch. 

“Here you are,” Snyder said, stopping by a completely empty bunk. “Last inhabitants were…cleared out just yesterday.” His wicked grin told Joey that the previous inhabitants had not survived their stay in the Refuge. Joey went to help Crutchie onto the bottom bunk, but Snyder grabbed his shoulder. 

“That’s not your bed,” he said. He pointed at the top bunk. “That is. You’re sharing.”

“But Crutchie can’t get up there!” Joey said. “His leg won’t allow it!”

“Well you’d better figure something out,” Snyder said. “If I come back to fetch you for dinner, and both of you aren’t on that bed, you’ll both be punished.” He smirked. “Good luck,” he said, and vanished into the foul-smelling gloom. 

“Here, I’ll go up first,” Crutchie said. “I can put a little weight on my bum leg. And you can go up behind me an’ catch me if I fall.” 

“Sure, let’s try it,” Joey replied. It took ten stressful, agonizing minutes, but eventually both boys had scaled the rickety metal ladder and were sitting on the top bunk. 

“Hey, we got a window!” Crutchie said. “We could use it to escape!” Joey nodded, already trying to come up with a plan in his head. Crutchie draped an arm around Joey’s shoulders. “I’m glad you’s here with me,” he said. “I mean, I’d rather not be here at all, but things like this are always easier when you gots a friend with ya.” Joey smiled. Maybe things would work out okay after all.


	9. Convincing Spot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thalia and Jack get into a very loud argument

“What do you mean, no?!” Thalia glared at Jack, arms crossed. Jack mirrored her pose, returning her glare. It had been a couple days since the disaster, and Thalia had just announced her intentions to go rescue her friends from the Refuge.

“What do ya think I mean?” He shot back. “I ain’t lettin’ ya go risk your life tryin’ ta break Joey an’ Crutchie outta the Refuge! It’s too dangerous!”

“So what?!” Thalia retorted. “I can fight! You’ve  _ seen _ me fight!”

“Yeah, you’s great one-on-one, but you’s also small, an’ you can’t do nothin’ if you’s outnumbered!” Jack yelled. “If ya go to the Refuge, you’s up against Snyder and ten guards! They’d kill ya! You ain’t goin’, and that’s that!”

“Oh yeah?” Thalia challenged. “Try to stop me, you goddamn coward!” Jack’s face went red. 

“I’m not gonna stand here an’ let a little girl call me a coward!” He spat. “You don’t know what I’ve been through!”

“Call me a little girl again, and I’ll knock your teeth out!” Thalia snarled. “We’re the same goddamn age! We’re both seventeen! You can’t order me around, Jack Kelly! I’ll do what I damn well please!” The sounds of their fight rang through the guesthouse above the Theatre Extraordinaire. Finally, Race couldn’t take it anymore. He slipped out using the fire escape, heading towards Brooklyn.

“Look, I really ain’t in the mood,” he said, when one of the Brooklyn newsies confronted him. “Just go get Spot, will ya?” The boy shot him a dirty look, but came back five minutes later with Spot Conlon. As soon as he saw Race, Spot’s glare softened. 

“Go on,” he told his friend. “I’ll take care a him.” The other boy nodded, and left. As soon as the other boy had vanished, Spot pulled Race into a tender hug, standing on tiptoes to plant a soft kiss on his lover’s lips. Race laughed, and bent down to allow Spot easier access. 

“Aw, shut up,” Spot growled, pulling Race in for another kiss.

“I didn’t say anything,” Race mumbled against Spot’s lips. 

“I said, shut up,” Spot said. 

“Alright, you’s the boss,” Race relented. 

“Damn right I am,” Spot said. “An’ don’t you ever forget it.” Race snorted. 

“As if you’d ever let me forget it,” he said. Spot rolled his eyes.

“How ‘bout instead of pokin’ fun at me, you tell me why ya haven’t come ta see me in three months,” he said. 

“I’s real sorry, Spot,” Race said. “Jack doesn’t like it when I sneak off. Y’know, you  _ could _ come see me sometime. I don’t always gotta be the one ta come see you.”

“Ha! That’s a good one,” Spot said. “You know Jack Kelly would beat me to a pulp just like that.” He snapped his fingers. 

“Not if I’m with you,” Race pleaded. “I could meet ya at the Brooklyn Bridge and we could walk. C’mon, Spot, please?” 

“I’ll consider it,” Spot said. He kissed Race again. “So what made ya come an’ see me after all these months?” 

“I wanted ta see the love a my life,” Race said. Spot looked at him, eyebrow raised. 

“Whaddya need?” He asked.

“What makes ya think I need somethin’?” Race asked. 

“Race, darlin’, you know I love you,” Spot said. “But you’s really,  _ really _ bad at lyin’. Whaddya need?”

“We need your help, Spot,” Race confessed. “I’m sure you’ve seen the story in the  _ World _ ‘bout what happened ta our strike.”

“I haven’t been readin’ the  _ World _ ,” Spot said. “We ain’t been sellin’ for them. Just for the  _ Sun _ . Saw your pretty mug beamin’ back at me from the front page a couple days ago.” He grinned at Race. “That sure was a welcome sight. Bought a copy just so I could pin the photo to the wall above my bed.”

“We got our asses kicked, Spot,” Race said. “There were strikebreakers there an’ Jack tried to reason with ‘em an’ convince ‘em ta join us but it was a trap. The cops were there an’ Snyder the Spider was too. He hauled Crutchie an’ Borrelli off to the Refuge an’ the rest a us got beat bad.” 

“Which one’s Borrelli?” Spot asked. 

“You’ve met him,” Race said. “He came with Jack to talk to you about the strike.”

“Yeah, alright, I know who you’s talkin’ about,” Spot said. “Go on.”

“So anyway,” Race continued. “Skywalker, that’s the other one who was with Jack, she-I mean, he-”

“I know she’s a girl, Race,” Spot said. “She had her braid hangin’ out when she came ta talk ta me,”

“Right, just don’t tell anyone else, alright?” Race said.

“You have my word,” Spot said, sealing his promise with another kiss. “Keep goin’, love.”

“She an’ Borrelli showed up together, an’ they’re best friends,” Race went on. “So she wanted to go break him an’ Crutchie outta the Refuge but Jack wouldn’t let her. Somethin’ about not wantin’ anyone else gettin’ hurt on his watch, so they had a big screamin’ match about it. They was still havin’ it when I left. But Spot, you gots a lotta power. All a the other newsie groups wouldn’t help us unless they knew what you were gonna do. If ya help, we can win this. If ya don’t, there’s no chance. Please, Spot. I’ll make it up to ya, I promise.”

“Alright, I’ll help,” Spot said. “Partly cuz it’s a good cause. Mostly cuz you’s cute.” Race turned pink. He glanced around. Night was falling.

“I oughtta be gettin’ back,” he said. He turned to go, but Spot grabbed his arm.

“Nuh uh,” he said. “You’s stayin’ with me tonight.”

“Spot!” Race protested. “I gotta get back. Jack’s already on-edge enough without havin’ ta worry about me.”

“Listen, pretty boy,” Spot said. “These streets already ain’t safe after dark, but now that you got in trouble with the cops? They  _ really _ ain’t safe. Can’t risk losin’ ya. An’ besides,” he grinned. “You  _ did  _ mention somethin’ about makin’ it up ta me for agreein’ ta help you out.”

“Oh,” Race said, realizing what Spot meant. “ _ Oh _ ,” he moaned softly as Spot’s lips found the tender skin of his neck. Spot smirked. 

“C’mon, lover boy,” he said. “Let’s see if I can’t get some more a those noises outta you.” Rendered speechless by Spot’s affections, Race could only nod as the King of Brooklyn led him away.


	10. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Spot is soft

Early morning sun streamed through the window of Spot’s apartment, waking Race. The apartment was separate from the abandoned factory that the rest of the Brooklyn newsies lived in, and Spot didn’t use it much. He just kept it for personal use, when he wanted some private time with Race. Race was tangled in the sheets, Spot’s strong arms wrapped around his waist. Race smiled. He tried to get up without waking Spot. It didn’t work. As Race was putting on his clothes, Spot sat up, the sun hitting his half naked body, making his golden skin glow. He ran his hands through his hair and yawned.

“Leavin’ so soon, love?” He asked. Race turned, and walked over to kiss Spot. Spot’s arms snaked around Race’s waist. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere,” he said.

“Spot,” Race whined. “I gotta go back ta Manhattan. Tell the rest a the boys the news.”

“Mmmm,” Spot hummed against the skin of Race’s neck. “What if I want you ta stay, huh?”

“Spot, please,” Race begged. “Jack’s probably worried ‘bout me. He’s real stressed. C’mon, lemme go, darlin’.”

“Ugh, alright,” Spot relented. “But I’m walkin’ ya back ta the Brooklyn Bridge, an’ you can’t stop me.” Race smiled. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. “Now c’mon, get dressed.” Spot grinned at him. 

“What if I just wanna go out like this, huh?” He asked, gesturing to his mostly naked body. “Give everyone a view?”

“I’m gonna have ta say no on that,” Race replied. “That view belongs ta me, an’ no one else.”

“Funny,” Spot shot back. “I seem ta remember someone who looked a lot like you screamin’ that he belonged ta me last night, not the other way around.” Race turned pink. 

“Aw, shut up,” he mumbled. Spot smirked. The lovers finished getting dressed, then walked through the streets of Brooklyn hand in hand. They stopped when they reached the Brooklyn Bridge. Spot kissed Race slowly, gently, wanting it to last as long as possible.

“I wish ya didn’t have ta go,” he said.

“Me too,” Race said. “But I’ll come back real soon, I promise.”

“You better,” Spot mumbled. “Else I’ll have ta come an’ find ya.” Race smiled. 

“Yeah, I’m sure ya will,” he said. A train whistle sounded in the distance, getting closer. 

“That’s my ride,” Race said. He pulled Spot in for another kiss, then ran and leaped onto the back of the freighter as it slowly made its way over the bridge. Spot watched him, admiring the way his lover’s long, lithe body moved. Then Race was gone.


	11. Good News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack is supportive

Race walked back to Miss Medda’s and went straight to Jack’s room. Jack raised an eyebrow as he entered. 

“Where’ve you been?” He asked. 

“Brooklyn,” Race replied.

“With Spot Conlon’s cock up your ass?” Jack said. 

“ _ What?! _ ” Race cried. He was about to deny any involvement with the King of Brooklyn, but Jack cut him off.

“Aw, c’mon, Race,” he said. “Everyone knows you two’re a couple. You might be tryin’ ta be subtle, but Spot sure ain’t. We seen those bruises on your neck, and we know you didn’t get ‘em from fallin’.”

“Alright, yeah,” Race said, blushing furiously. “But that wasn’t the only reason I was over there! I got him ta agree ta help us! I just need ta know when the next demonstration is, and he’ll send his boys to rally all the others an’ come help! So when’s the next demonstration?”

“There’s not gonna be another demonstration,” Jack said.

“What?” Race asked.

“You heard me,” Jack said. “We ain’t doin’ any more.”

“But we can’t just give up!” Race protested. “Not now that Spot’s gonna help us!”

“Look,” Jack said. “What happened a couple days ago? That was a disaster, an’ it was my fault. I ain’t lettin’ anyone else get hurt cuz a me.”

“Please, Jack,” Race begged. “Just one more. We’ll have all the newsboys in the damn city on our side. If it don’t work then, then it wasn’t meant ta be, but we gotta try one more time.” Jack looked at Race for a long while, then sighed.

“Fine,” he said. “One more. Three days from now. Go tell lover boy.” Race grinned.

“Thanks, Jack!” He said. “I, uh, might be gone overnight again though.”

“Look, I don’t care what you an’ prissy Conlon do as long as you’s happy an’ as long as I don’t have ta hear ya doin’ it,” Jack said. “Just go.”


	12. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thalia pretends to know Jesus

As Race was talking to Jack, Thalia was preparing for a rescue mission. She wore the same outfit that she had worn when she appeared in New York, and her hair was in a neat braid. She held Crutchie’s crutch, and her canvas bag was full of religious pamphlets and a coil of rope. She knocked on the door to Miss Medda’s room.

“My my!” Miss Medda said, opening the door. “Look at you all dressed up!”

“I’m going to war, Miss Medda,” Thalia joked. 

“Ain’t we all, honey,” Miss Medda replied. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, if it’s not too much trouble,” Thalia said. “I’m going to go rescue Joey and Crutchie. Or at least, I’m going to help them rescue themselves. And I’d like Jack not to know until it’s over. I’ve had the boys collect pamphlets from the nuns who give us horrible coffee and revolting donuts and try to convert us to Catholicism every morning, and I’ve got a rope in my bag. I’m gonna go to the Refuge and pose as a missionary trying to get the boys to repent, and I’m gonna give Joey and Crutchie the rope so they can get out.”

“That sounds like a good plan, but where do I come in?” Miss Medda asked.

“Well, I’m still bruised from that fight a week ago,” Thalia said. “So I was wondering if you could help me with makeup. Not too much, just enough to cover the bruises and make me look like a god-fearing do-gooder Christian girl.” 

“Well, god fearin’ do-gooder Christian girl ain’t really my specialty, but I’ll do my best,” Miss Medda replied. “Sit on down and I’ll see what I can do.” She started pulling out assorted brushes, pencils, and containers, occasionally gently tilting Thalia’s head this way and that. 

“Well, that’s the best I can do,” she said after about half an hour. Thalia looked in the mirror. Her bruises were pretty well hidden, her eyelashes were curled, and her lips were a pale pink. 

“Thanks, Miss Medda,” she said. “It looks great.” 

“It’s nothin’, honey,” Miss Medda said. “Come back once you’re done, and I’ll help you take it off. Good luck!”

“Thanks,” Thalia repeated. “I’ve got a feeling I’m gonna need it.” She grabbed Crutchie’s crutch and headed to the Refuge. She hid the crutch behind some trash cans in an alley next to the tall, imposing building, then took a deep breath, put on her best smile, and rang the doorbell of the Refuge. Snyder the Spider answered.

“What do you want, girl?” He snarled.

“Hello, sir!” Thalia replied. “I’m a missionary from Our Lady of Redemption Church, and I wanted to speak with your charges.”

“What for?” Snyder asked, eyeing Thalia suspiciously.

“Well, I know you run an orphanage for wayward boys, boys who have done wrong,” Thalia said. “I want to guide them to the Lord. To let them know that they may repent and be saved by Him.” Snyder squinted at her.

“You look familiar,” he growled. 

“Oh, I get that a lot,” Thalia chirped. “I guess I must have one of those faces!” 

“Are you involved with those criminal newsboys?” Snyder demanded. 

“Oh, no sir!” Thalia said, acting like that was the last thing she’d want to do. “I mean, I’ve gone with the nuns to try and convert them, but they’re far too rough and stubborn. I’d never want to hang around them.”

“Where’d you get the bag then?” Snyder asked. 

“Oh, this?” Thalia said. “I found it on the street a couple days ago, and I thought to myself, “you know, this is the perfect thing for carrying pamphlets in!” I used to have to carry them by hand, and I’m such a klutz I’d always drop a bunch of them. The nuns didn’t appreciate that, they wanted me to hand them to people.”

“Follow me,” Snyder grunted, looking thoroughly tired of Thalia’s rambling. Thalia followed him into the building. The stench hit her like a wall. It was a combination of bodily fluids, rotting food, and mildew.

“The boys are in there,” Snyder said. “Make it quick.”

“You bet, sir!” Thalia said. She walked among the beds, faking her way through sermons and handing out pamphlets until she saw two familiar faces. 

“Thalia?” Joey said. He jumped down from the top bunk and the pair hugged. Crutchie peered over the side of the bed. 

“Did ya come ta rescue us?” He asked. 

“I can only do a half job of it,” Thalia said. She pulled out the rope and handed it to Joey. “Hide this under your pillow until you’re ready to go.” She glanced out the window, and to her relief, she saw the alley where she’d put Crutchie’s crutch. “Crutchie, your crutch is hidden behind those trash cans in the alley.” She pointed to the cans. “Listen,” she said, lowering her voice. “We’re at Miss Medda’s. We’ve got rooms there. And please, escape soon. Jack’s lost his mind worrying about you both.” She looked at Crutchie. “Especially you.”

“Tell Jack we’ll be there real soon!” Crutchie said, grinning. Thalia grinned too. Crutchie’s optimism was infectious.

“I will, I promise,” she said. She hugged Joey again. “I gotta go. Good luck, I’ll see you soon.”

“Thanks, Thalia,” Joey said. 

“No problem,” Thalia said. “You’re both my friends. I wasn’t gonna let you stay here long.” She gave Joey one last squeeze, waved at Crutchie, who waved back, before making her way towards the exit. 

As she climbed up the stairs to the guesthouse of the Theatre Extraordinaire, Thalia was met by an extremely angry-looking Jack Kelly.

“Where’ve you been?” he demanded. 

“Out,” Thalia replied simply. “Crutchie told me to tell you that he’d be back real soon.” Jack’s eyes flashed with anger. 

“You went ta the refuge!” he said. “You disobeyed my direct orders!”

“Hold on one goddamn, minute, Jack Kelly!” Thalia snapped. “As you’ll recall, when you were “forbidding” me to do this in the first place, I told you that I don’t take orders from you, and nothing’s changed since then! I don’t know about you, but I care about Joey and Crutchie, and I don’t want to leave them to die in a hellhole that smells like a sewer! I went under the pretense of being a missionary girl, I gave them a rope so they could get out through the window,  _ and _ I brought Crutchie his crutch so he could actually move around. And believe me, it was  _ not _ easy. I had to pretend I had no connection to you, try to remember Catholic sermons that I never actually learned in the first place, and kiss Snyder’s ass a  _ lot _ , so a little gratitude would be appreciated!” Jack just stared at Thalia for a few minutes, rendered speechless by her fiery rebuke. Then he rushed forward and hugged her tight.

“You’s a better man than I am, Thalia Skywalker,” He said. “Well, relatively speakin’. You was right. I was a coward. I didn’t want anyone else ta get hurt cuz a me. Shoulda realized you were too smart ta just go chargin’ in there head-on. Thanks for rescuin’ Borrelli an’ Crutchie, even when I told ya not to.”

“Does this mean you won’t try ordering me around anymore?” Thalia asked, returning the hug. After five days of uncertainty, Jack’s arms offered a small sense of safety. Jack laughed. 

“Not unless it’s real important that ya listen,” He promised. 


	13. Crutchie’s Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which gay things occur

The next evening, all of the newsies were gathered around the guesthouse’s dining room table, discussing strategy for the upcoming demonstration, when two sets of footsteps, one even one uneven, were heard on the stairs. In a flash, Thalia and Jack had sprung up from their chairs and were racing towards the staircase. 

“Jack!” Crutchie cried, limping hurriedly towards the dark-haired leader of the newsies, a gigantic grin on his face. In an instant, the crutch was tossed aside and the two were holding onto each other for dear life. Jack ran his fingers gently through Crutchie’s messy dirty-blonde hair, placing a gentle kiss on his head. A tear ran down his cheek. 

“God, Crutchie I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I thought I lost ya. I’m so sorry.”

“Aw, it’s alright, Jack,” Crutchie said. “I’m alright now, see?”

“Yeah, but--” Jack said. 

“Nope. No buts,” Crutchie said. “I’m here now, and I ain’t hurt. That’s what matters.” He grabbed Jack’s collar and pulled him down into a kiss. Jack’s eyes widened, then closed, his arms draping themselves around Crutchie’s neck and shoulders as he melted into the kiss. 

“I missed ya, you big idiot,” Crutchie said as they pulled away. 

“I missed ya too, ya moron,” Jack responded, a big loopy smile on his face. He pulled Crutchie back in for another kiss. Thalia hugged Joey tight. 

“You’re just in time,” she told him. “We’re having another demonstration day after tomorrow, and Race was able to work some gay magic on Spot Conlon, so we’ve got the support of every newsie group behind us. They’re all gonna be here. They’re coming tomorrow.” Joey grinned. 

“We’re making history,” he said. “I always wanted to be a part of this, and now I get to. It’s amazing.” 

“Yeah!” Thalia agreed. “You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“No, we’re both fine,” Joey said. “Just a few faded bruises from a week ago. Nothing fresh.”

“Good,” Thalia said. “We’ve got some extra food from dinner, then you and Crutchie should get some rest. You two have had a stressful week.” Joey glanced over Thalia’s shoulder and chuckled. 

“I agree, but I think we’ll have to unstick Crutchie from Jack first,” he said. Thalia glanced over and saw Jack and Crutchie, still hugging and kissing. She smiled. 

“Let’s leave ‘em to it,” she said. “They’ve got some catching up to do.” She took Joey’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m glad you okay,” she said.

“Yeah,” Joey said. “I’m glad I’m okay, too.” The two friends went into the dining room, where Joey was group hugged by the rest of the Manhattan newsies. Thalia smiled. Things were finally looking up. 


	14. Brooklyn’s Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Spot Conlon makes an entrance

“Remind me why we’s out here again, Racetrack?” Jack grumped. It was the next evening, and Race had pulled Jack away from Crutchie, which Jack was none too happy about. The two of them, plus Thalia and Joey, were outside Miss Medda’s. Race looked around, his face falling.  
“I really thought he’d be here,” he mumbled. “He promised.”  
“Hey Manhattan,” a voice said. Everyone’s heads snapped around. The source of the voice was Spot Conlon, leaning up against a lamppost, an immensely self-satisfied grin on his face. “The cavalry’s here,” Spot said. “A little birdie told me our buddies is hurtin’, so I figured I might as well rally the troops ta come help.” He jerked his head behind him, and Jack, Joey, and Thalia saw an army of newsboys carrying signs and grinning. Race would’ve seen them too, had he not been preoccupied with their leader.  
“Spot!” He cried, running and leaping into Spot’s arms. Spot caught his lover easily, planting a kiss on his lips before gently setting Race back on his feet. He fixed his eyes on Jack.  
“Kelly,” he said.  
“Conlon,” Jack replied. Spot spat into his hand, and held it out to Jack. Jack did the same, and the two shook hands.  
“Glad you finally decide we was worth your while,” Jack said.  
“Eh, it took some convincin’,” Spot replied, smirking at Race, who went rather pink. Spot turned to Joey and Thalia, who had her hair tucked into her cap this time.  
“Skywalker,” Spot said. “You looks more like a boy now.”  
“Glad you approve,” Thalia said drily. Spot glanced over at Race, who mouthed “be nice!” at him.  
“Look, we got off on the wrong foot,” Spot said. “I get why ya threatened me. I’d’ve done the same if I was in your situation. Can we call it quits and be allies?”  
“Yeah,” Thalia said. “But I wanna fight.”  
“I’d love to, but Race says I gotta be nice,” Spot said, making a face at his lover.  
“Not a full on fight,” Thalia said. “A friendly one. Between allies.” Spot raised an eyebrow.  
“Why?” He asked.  
“Jack doesn’t think I can beat you in a fight,” Thalia said. “I think I can.” Spot chuckled.  
“Tryin’ ta prove a point, huh?” He said. “I can understand that. You got yourself a fight. Tomorrow. Noon. In the square just a block away from here.” He pointed in the direction he’d come from, then spat on his hand again and held it out for Thalia to shake. Thalia spat on her hand, and shook Spot’s hand, sealing the deal. Spot then turned to Joey, looking him up and down.  
“You must be Borrelli,” he said. “Another Italian, huh?”  
“Another half-breed,” Joey replied.  
“Really?” Spot asked. “Wouldn’t a guessed from lookin’ at ya. Half what?”  
“German,” Joey said. Spot nodded approvingly.  
“Good combination,” he said. “Nice ta finally be meetin’ ya for real.” For the third time that night, he spat in his hand and held it out. Joey copied him, and the two half-Italians shook hands.  
“It’s gettin’ late,” Jack said. “Conlon, I’m assumin’ you’s stayin’ with us, which you’s welcome ta do as long as you’s quiet.” He shot Race a meaningful look, which caused Race to blush more. “The rest a you ain’t gonna fit in the guesthouse, so you can use the lodging house. I’ll have Albert an’ Elmer show ya the way.” Jack hurried into the guesthouse to retrieve the pair. Spot walked back over to Race. He wrapped an arm around the taller boys waist, giving his ass a squeeze too, for good measure. Race squeaked, and gave Spot a dirty look. Spot just smirked.  
“You heard what Jack said!” Race said.  
“He never said we ain’t allowed,” Spot countered. “He just said we gotta be quiet. I think I can handle that, pretty boy. Can you?” Race blushed even deeper as Jack came out of the theater, Albert and Elmer in tow. He looked at the blushing, obviously hot and bothered Race, then at Spot.  
“I mean it, Conlon,” he warned. “If I can’t get ta sleep cuz a the two a you goin’ at it, I’m makin’ ya both sleep on the street.”  
“I promise, Kelly, you won’t hear a peep,” Spot replied. Jack rolled his eyes.  
“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get inside. We’ve got a lot ta do tomorrow.”


	15. Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thalia beats up a defenseless tree

Thalia rose with the sun the next morning. She got dressed quietly and slipped out of the small bedroom that she and Joey shared. She made her way down to the small courtyard behind the Theatre Extraordinaire and settled into a fighting stance facing one of the small trees. As the temperature slowly rose, Thalia practiced kicks and punches against the helpless tree.

“Why don’t ya give the poor tree a break, huh?” A voice said from behind her as she took a pause, catching her breath. Thalia jumped, and whirled around. Jack was leaning against the building, watching her. 

“Jesus Christ, don’t  _ do _ that!” Thalia said. Jack grinned.

“Sorry,” He said, not sounding particularly sorry. “I needed ta talk to ya in private, and I didn’t wanna get hit.”

“What’s up?” Thalia asked.

“I’m gonna go talk ta Pulitzer this afternoon, before the demonstration,” Jack said. “See if he’s willin’ ta end this strike peacefully, with now demonstration. I want you ta come with me. In your girl clothes.”

“What?” Thalia asked. “Why?” 

“Just in case somethin’ goes wrong,” Jack said. “In case somethin’ happens ta me, you can go back an’ tell the others that the demonstration’s postponed.”

“But why in my girl clothes?” Thalia asked. 

“Pulitzer’s an ass in more ways than one,” Jack said. “He thinks women are beneath him, so he doesn’t take notice of ‘em, really. If you’s there an’ya have ta sneak out, you’ll have a better chance a gettin’ away if ya look like a girl.” Thalia nodded. 

“Alright,” she said. “When do we leave?”

“As soon after your fight with Spot as we can,” Jack said. “I can see ya practicin’. How ‘bout ya leave the defenseless tree alone and practice with a real person who can actually fight back?”

“You’ll help me get ready?” Thalia asked, surprised.

“‘Course I will,” Jack said, grinning. “I wanna see Spot Conlon get his ass kicked.”

“Says the man who doesn’t think I can beat him,” Thalia said. Jack shrugged. 

“I’m hopin’ you’ll defy the odds,” he said. “Just like I’m hopin’ we’ll defy the odds and win this war we’s wagin’ against Pulitzer. Now, are we gonna fight or not?” Thalia grinned. 

“Bring it on!” She said. 

Half an hour later, Thalia and Jack walked into Miss Medda’s dining room, covered in sweat. 

“There you are,” Miss Medda said, setting a plate of bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast down in front of each of them. “I was just about to report the two a you missin’ to the police.”

“We was just out back, Miss Medda,” Jack said. He glanced at Spot, who was sitting across from him. The leader of the Brooklyn newsies was holding Race on his lap. Race’s neck was covered in fresh hickies, but Spot was true to his word and no one had heard a peep from Race’s room the night before.

“This fight ain’t gonna be an easy one for ya, Conlon,” he said. “Skywalker’s beat everythin’ we’ve thrown at her. Only time I ever seen her lose a fistfight  was durin’ the disaster, when a cop an’ both DeLanceys ganged up on her.”

“We’ll see,” Spot replied. He kissed Race’s neck again, causing Race to let out a high pitched whine.

“Christ, Conlon!” Jack protested. “we’s  _ eatin _ ’ here! Get a room, will ya?” At that moment, Crutchie limped down the stairs, Joey in tow. 

“Mornin’, Jack!” He said. Jack grinned, standing up. 

“Mornin’, Crutchie,” he said, cupping his lover’s face and kissing him tenderly. Jack helped Crutchie get settled into a chair next to him.

“Thanks, darlin’,” Crutchie said, pulling Jack closer for another kiss.

“Aw, anythin’ for the love a my life,” Jack replied, smiling as Miss Medda gave Joey and Crutchie their plates. As people finished eating, talk around the table turned to the demonstration. It was mainly Jack and Spot discussing strategy, with others offering their occasional input.

“I’m gonna go talk ta the rest,” Spot said after about an hour of this. 

“I’m comin’ too!” Race said immediately. Spot grinned. 

“Meet me in the square at noon,” he told Thalia. “An’ bring an audience.” Thalia grinned back. 

“You bet,” she said. 


	16. Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thalia proves a point

The hot July sun beat down overhead as Spot and Thalia prepared for their fight. The Manhattan newsies, with the exception of Race, were behind Thalia, while the Brooklyn newsies and Race stood behind Spot. The rest of the newsies were packed around the sides of the square, making a ring for the opponents to fight in. 

“You got this!” Joey encouraged. 

“Spot ain’t gonna know what hit ‘im,” Jack added. “Just remember, you’s faster than him. You can play the long game. Wear him out.” He clapped Thalia on the shoulder. Across the ring, Race kissed Spot. 

“I’ve never seen ya lose a fight,” he said. “You’s gonna win, I know it.” Spot grinned, and kissed back. 

“You’s a dirty traitor, Racetrack Higgins,” he said. “Turnin’ on your borough like that.”

“I can go back if I ain’t appreciated here,” Race huffed, pouting. He began to walk away, but Spot grabbed his collar and pulled him back.

“When did I say I didn’t appreciate ya, huh?” He asked, tugging Race in for another kiss. Race grinned. 

“Go get ‘er, tiger,” he said. Thalia and Spot walked to the center of the “ring,” where Smalls, a Bronx newsie and the only other female newsie apart from Thalia, waited. Spot and Thalia spat on their palms and shook hands. Both combatants were barefoot. Thalia had rolled the sleeves of her shirt up to her elbows and removed her cap. Her hair was coiled and pinned flat at the back of her head so that Spot couldn’t grab it. Race was holding Spot’s cap, but otherwise the Brooklyn leader’s attire was unchanged.

“Alright,” Smalls said, quite enjoying her job as the referee. “I wanna nice, clean fight between the two a you. That means you,” she pointed at Thalia. “no groin shots, and you,” she pointed at Spot. “no tit shots. Fight ends when one a you yells uncle.” She backed up, blending in with the crowd. “Ready… fight!” She yelled. Immediately, Spot’s fist flew towards Thalia’s head. Thalia ducked out of the way, throwing a punch at Spot’s stomach. Spot caught her fist just before it could make contact. The fight was on, the fighters equally matched, trading blows of equal severity. As they kept going, Spot threw a punch straight at Thalia’s nose. Thalia leaned back to avoid it, but in doing so lost her balance and landed hard on the sun-baked cobblestones of the square. Seeing an opportunity, Spot charged forward, but Thalia was nothing if not quick-thinking. In a flash, she had pushed herself up halfway. Her leg moved in a semicircle, sweeping Spot’s feet out from under him. It took mere seconds for her to pin him to the ground, her forearm pressing against his throat. 

“Say it,” she hissed.

“No way,” Spot retorted, his dark eyes still blazing with the thrill of the fight. Thalia pressed her forearm harder into his windpipe. 

“Say it!” She growled. 

“Alright, alright!” Spot said, starting to gasp for air. “Let up a little!” Thalia did so. “Uncle!” Spot yelled. 

“The winner!” Smalls cried. “Thalia Skywalker, a the Manhattan newsies!” Thalia got off Spot, and helped him to his feet.

“Nice job,” she said. Spot grinned, clapping her on the shoulder. 

“Same ta you,” he said. He spat on his hand once more and held it out. “Allies?” He asked.

“Friends,” Thalia corrected, spitting on her own hand and shaking his. Spot’s grin got even wider. He pulled Thalia in for a hug.

“Friends,” he agreed. They separated, and went back to their “camps.” 

“You were real great, love,” Race said. 

“Aw, thanks pretty boy,” Spot replied, tugging Race in by the collar and planting a kiss on his lips. Race carded his fingers through Spot’s thick, dark hair, pulling the shorter boy in closer. Spot smirked as he pulled away.

“Well, somethin’s got ya excited,” he said.

“You did,” Race replied breathlessly. “I- god, I  _ love  _ watchin’ ya fight.” 

“Do ya now?” Spot asked. He tangled his fingers in Race’s hair now, pulling the blonde boy in close. “I bet you want me ta rough you up like that, dontcha?” He whispered in Race’s ear.

“Spot…” Race whined, closing his eyes. “Yes…  _ please _ , yes!”

“We’ll see about that,” Spot said, a grin that could only be described as devilish playing across his lips. “Right now, we gotta rich bastard ta soak.”

“Nice job,” Jack told Thalia as Joey hugged his best friend tight.

“I told you I could take him,” Thalia said smugly.

“Yeah, ya did,” Jack said, grinning. “Shoulda taken your word for it. You ready ta go?”

“Emotionally, yeah,” Thalia said. “But I gotta get into my girl clothes first.” She grinned at him. “Captain’s orders, y’know.” Jack laughed. 

“Alright, c’mon,” he said. They went back to Miss Medda’s, and Thalia changed into her skirt and vest ensemble, brushed her hair out, and rebraided it. 

“Okay, now I’m ready,” she said, meeting Jack in the lobby. 

“Good luck,” Spot called as Race tugged him past the pair on the way upstairs.

“Thanks,” Thalia called back. 


	17. Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which negotiations do not go as planned

Thalia followed Jack through the streets, just like she’d done on the first day. 

“If anythin’ goes wrong, leave,” Jack told her as they walked. “Try not ya draw attention ta yourself while you’s in the building, but as soon as ya get out, run back ta Miss Medda’s and tell all the others that the strike’ll happen tomorrow. Don’t fight anyone unless ya have ta.”

“But what about you?” Thalia asked.

“I’ll be fine,” Jack said. “Don’t ya worry about me.” They reached a large, grand building and went inside, climbing many flights of stairs until they reached a room with two large oak doors leading into a different. A woman sat at a desk to the right of the doors. Jack walked up to her.

“I want ta see Pulitzer,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Pulitzer is not currently seeing visitors,” the woman replied, not looking up.

“Really?” Jack said. “Well I think he’ll want ta see me.” The woman looked at Jack. She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Do you, now?” She asked. 

“Yeah,” Jack replied. “Tell ‘im Jack Kelly’s here. He’ll want ta meet with me.” The secretary looked unconvinced, but she got up and walked through the doors. A few minutes later, she came back out. 

“Mr. Pulitzer will see you now, sir,” she said, looking flustered. 

“Told ya he would,” Jack said. He smirked confidently and sauntered into Pulitzer’s office, Thalia in tow.

“Mr. Kelly here to see you, sir,” the secretary said. 

“Thank you, Hannah,” Pulitzer said. “You may go.” He sat at a large, grand desk, scribbling something on a piece of paper. The office was fancy, wallpapered in green and gold with austere-looking portraits hanging on the walls. Three red and gold chairs sat along the wall, and one of them was turned to face the marble fireplace.

“Jack Kelly,” Pulitzer said, finally looking up from his writing. “To what do I owe this honor?”

“Just a warnin’,” Jack said. “An’ an opportunity.” Pulitzer raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?” He said. “Do tell. What could a simple street boy have to offer me?” If Jack was affected by the jab, he didn’t show it. His cocky grin never faltered. 

“I’m givin’ ya one more chance ta lower the price a papes,” he said. “Before ya get every newsboy in this damn city bitin’ at your heels.” He leaned over Pulitzer’s desk. “The choice is yours, old man,” he said. “Either you gives us our rights, or we gives you a war.” 

“Interesting,” Pulitzer said. “You threaten me with a war, yet you have obviously failed to consider how such a war would affect your friends.” 

“Whaddya mean?” Jack asked. 

“Take the charming Mr. Morris, for example,” Pulitzer said. “Not only is he guilty by associating with you, but he is now an escaped convict himself. I know you care about him deeply, and it would be a shame if he were to go missing.” Now Jack faltered. Fear flashed across his face, quickly replaced by anger.

“If you lay a hand on Crutchie, I swear ta god…” he growled. Pulitzer smiled. He had Jack right where he wanted him now. 

“Or perhaps I shall separate Mr. Higgins from the famous Mr. Conlon,” he mused. “It would be interesting to see just how long Higgins would last before he cracked.” 

“You can’t do this,” Jack said. “I ain’t gonna let you!” Pulitzer laughed.

“You think you’re in control here,” he said. “It’s a cute idea, but frankly it’s misguided. You may think you’re the king of New York, but I rule this city.” He took a sip of amber-colored liquid from a glass on his desk. “It just so happens, however, that I am willing to offer you a compromise,” he said. “I promise not to harm your friends if you call off this foolish strike.”

“Never!” Jack spat. Pulitzer sighed, shaking his head. 

“I had hope for you, Jack Kelly,” he said. “I thought you’d see reason. I suppose not.”

“How do ya know all this stuff about us?” Jack demanded, his dark eyes blazing with fury.

“My dear,” Pulitzer called. “I’m afraid you’re being rather rude. Greet our guest, please.” The chair that was facing the fireplace turned, revealing an incredibly guilty-looking Katherine Plumber. Jack stared. 

“Katherine…” he said. “What…?”

“I see she never told you,” Pulitzer said, a triumphant grin on his face. “Yes, dear Katherine is my daughter, and she had been  _ very _ helpful to me.” He clapped his hands. “Well, if you’re going to be stubborn, I suppose the moral thing to do would be to allow you time to reconsider. Oscar! Morris!” The DeLancey brothers emerged from the shadows where they had been lurking, unseen. “Take our guest down to the cellar,” Pulitzer said.

“Of course, Mr. Pulitzer,” Oscar said, smirking. He grabbed Jack by the shoulder. Jack winced. He’d been hit by a nightstick in that shoulder during the disastrous second strike, and it was still tender. Oscar noticed Jack’s discomfort, and gave the bruised shoulder a vicious squeeze. Jack bit his lip, desperately trying not to cry out in pain. As the DeLancey’s hauled him off to a side door, Jack made eye contact with Thalia.

“Go!” He mouthed. Thalia went. She was able to slip out of the building with no problem, and as soon as she reached the street, she ran.

“What happened?” Spot demanded as soon as she reached the Theatre Extraordinaire. “Where’s Jack?”

“Pulitzer’s got him,” Thalia wheezed, out of breath from her frenzied sprint. “The demonstration’s postponed until tomorrow.” She went on to tell the gathered newsies about the meeting. As she got to the part where Pulitzer had threatened Crutchie and Race, Crutchie went pale and started shaking. Race squeezed Spot’s hand tighter. Joey walked up and placed a hand on Crutchie’s shoulder. 

“Jack won’t let anything happen to you,” he said. “And neither will we. We’re a family, and a family protects one another.” Crutchie gulped, and nodded.

“But Jack…” he said, his voice shaking. 

“Jack’s tough,” Spot reassured him. “He’ll be alright.”


	18. The cellar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack very nearly loses it

At that moment, Jack was feeling less than alright. The DeLanceys had frogmarched him down a steep set of stairs into a dark cellar, taunting him all the while. 

“Oh yes,” Morris jeered as he gave Jack a shove. “This here’s the royal suite. Pulitzer’s orders: only the most luxurious accommodations for the king a New York.” Oscar pulled a chain hanging from the ceiling, and a single, dim lightbulb sputtered to life. 

“An’ here’s your bed, your majesty,” he said, walking over to an object covered by a sheet. He whipped the sheet off, revealing a contraption that Jack recognized was a printing press. Morris threw Jack onto the printing press, causing Jack to let out a low, involuntary groan. Both DeLancey brothers laughed. 

“Sleep tight, your highness!” Oscar teased.

“Don’t let the rats get ya!” Morris added as he and his brother ascended the stairs. Jack heard their mocking laughter drifting down the staircase before the door slammed shut, leaving him alone. Jack curled into the fetal position on top of the printing press. His back ached, and he felt sick to his stomach. What was happening to his friends, his family? Pictures popped into his head. Policemen slamming down the doors of Miss Medda’s. Cops dragging an unconscious Joey away. Spot, fighting to get back to Race as the two were pulled apart. Thalia, running for her life as a cluster of police chased her. And Crutchie, wonderful, gorgeous Crutchie, who was always ready to cheer Jack up when he was down, always ready to offer him a smile or a joke or a kiss, with the barrel of a pistol pressed against his forehead. It was too much for Jack to bear.

“Shut up!” He reprimanded himself. “Tell me how lyin’ here an’ feelin’ sorry for yourself does Crutchie any good!” He forced himself to get up and walk around the perimeter of the basement, poking and prodding the walls to try and find something— _ anything _ that would allow him to get out. Finally, after hours of searching, his fingertips caught in a tiny crack. Jack pulled, and a door creaked open, letting wonderful fresh air in. Jack breathed a sigh of relief as he walked through the door out into the cool night air. For the first time in days, he walked towards the lodging house. He needed to clear his head, and the only place he could think of where he could do that effectively was his “penthouse,” the roof of the lodging house. All the Manhattan newsies knew that access to the penthouse was by Jack’s invitation only, and Albert and Elmer would’ve told the others that, so the last thing Jack expected to see as he climbed the fire escape was someone standing there, silhouetted against the moonlight,  _ looking at his drawings _ .

“Look, I dunno what you’s playin’ at,” he growled as he got up onto the roof. The figure turned. It was Katherine. Jack’s blood boiled. His fists clenched and his jaw tightened. “You’ve got some nerve, comin’ here after what you did,” he snarled.

“Jack, please!” Katherine begged. “I never told my father that stuff about you and your boys. He was manipulating you!”

“Why should I believe you?” Jack demanded. “You lied to me!”

“I never lied to you!” Katherine said. “I told you I was a reporter for the  _ Sun _ ; I am. I told you I wrote under the name Katherine Plumber; I do. If you’d asked my real name, I would’ve told you, but you didn’t. And I am  _ not  _ a spy for my father. He has eyes all over the city, he doesn’t need me working for him.” She held up the drawing she’d been looking at. “Is this the Refuge?” She asked. 

“Yeah,” Jack said tersely.

“Look, I have an idea,” Katherine said.

“Do ya now?” Jack asked.

“Yes, I do,” Katherine said. “In that interview you gave me, you said you were striking for the sake of all child laborers in the city.”

“Yeah,” Jack said.

“And this city is built on child labor,” Katherine continued. “So if all the kids shining shoes on the street and working the factories and all that, if they all went on strike with you, my father would have no choice but to listen.”

“An’ how d’you propose ta tell ‘em all about the strike, hm?” Jack asked. 

“The papers,” Katherine said. “We print our own:  _ The Newsie Banner. _ I have some friends that can help me print it, and you and your boys can distribute it. And if we put this in there,” she held up Jack’s drawing. “it’ll horrify people. Shock them into listening. Take it from me, the rich socialites of this city don’t know what actually happens in there. They just think it’s a boarding school, but stricter. If they knew the truth, they’d shut it down immediately. The only problem is, all the printing presses in the city are under my father’s control.”

“Not all of ‘em,” Jack said. “I know a one he doesn’t control. Meet me outside Miss Medda’s tomorrow night with your friends.”

“Alright,” Katherine said. She put the drawing back and started to leave, but then turned. “Jack?” She said. 

“Yeah,” Jack replied. 

“You might want to get back to Miss Medda’s soon,” Katherine told him. “I went there earlier, to clear things up with Thalia, and Crutchie looked…rough. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t talking, and he was in the corner by himself. He looked scared. Thalia must have told them about my father’s threats.” 

“Thanks, Katherine,” Jack said dully. 

“So… uh… I’ll see you,” Katherine said. 

“Yeah,” Jack replied. 


	19. Reassurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crutchie needs his boyfriend

Katherine disappeared into the night, and Jack walked back to Miss Medda’s. As he opened the door to his room, he saw Crutchie sound asleep, bathed in moonlight. He smiled for a moment at the sight of his beautiful lover before realizing that something was off. Crutchie, who could never sleep in his clothes, had not stripped down to his boxers as he normally did. He hadn’t even taken off his shoes. Crutchie always needed to be under the blankets, no matter how hot it was, but here he was on top of the sheets. And as Jack walked closer, he could see tear stains streaking Crutchie’s beautiful face. 

“Oh, Crutchie,” Jack whispered. He stripped down to his boxers himself, folding his clothes neatly and placing them on a chair before getting into bed and placing a gentle hand on Crutchie’s shoulder. Crutchie woke with a start and scrambled back, away from Jack. Panic flashed across his features. 

“Wha? Get away!” He cried, lashing out at his perceived attacker.

“Hey.  _ Hey _ ,” Jack said soothingly. “Crutchie, it’s me. It’s Jack, darlin’. You’s alright, I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” Crutchie stopped fighting and calmed down.

“Jack,” he murmured, reaching out. “You’s safe. You’s alright. You’s  _ here _ .” Jack pulled him close, one hand resting between Crutchie’s shoulder blades, the other cradling the back of his head.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m alright, and I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” He felt tears hit his chest, felt Crutchie’s back shake as the other boy cried with relief. 

“I thought—Thalia said—I was afraid you’d—” he sobbed. 

“Crutchie,” Jack said. 

“Yeah?” Crutchie replied.

“Feel my heartbeat?” Jack asked. “Feel my breathin’?” 

“Yeah.”

“Feel how nice an’ steady they is?”

“Yeah.”

“That means I’m here. That means I’m alright.”

“But you—” Crutchie started, but Jack cut him off.

“Crutchie Morris, it’s gonna take a whole lot more than Pulitzer an’ a couple a goons ta keep me away from you,” Jack said.

“Promise?” Crutchie sniffled. 

“Promise,” Jack replied. “Let’s get ya outta those clothes now, huh? You know ya won’t be able ta sleep with ‘em on.” Crutchie nodded, sitting up so that Jack could gently remove and fold his many layers of clothing. When he had finished, Jack pulled the covers over the both of them and went back to holding Crutchie as he had been holding him before. Jack could sense that Crutchie was still upset and scared, and therefore didn’t want Jack to kiss him on the lips, so he contented himself with pressing soft kisses to the top of Crutchie’s head. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he murmured, his thumb gently stroking the base of Crutchie’s head. “I got ya. Go ta sleep, alright? I’ll be here when ya wake up, I promise.” Crutchie nodded, and Jack could feel his breathing getting slower and steadier as they both fell asleep.


	20. The Newsie Banner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pulitzer unknowingly helps out

Crutchie woke up before Jack the next morning. Jack usually woke up first, but Crutchie loved it when he opened his eyes to see his dark-haired lover still asleep. Jack was ridiculously handsome when he was awake, but  _ god _ , he was so beautiful when he was asleep. During the day, Jack had all the other newsies to manage, but at night it was just him and Crutchie. His worry lines melted, his hard edges softened, and it was the most perfect thing that Crutchie had ever seen, especially when the morning sun hit him like it was now. He tried to shift a little, to get a better view of the love of his life without waking him, but as he did, Jack opened his eyes. 

“Mornin’, gorgeous,” he said sleepily, leaning over to kiss Crutchie’s head. Crutchie appreciated Jack being careful with him, but that wasn’t what he needed at the moment. He tangled his fingers in Jack’s hair, pulling his lover down and planting a kiss on his lips. Jack grinned as he kissed Crutchie back again and again and again. 

“God, I love you,” he mumbled in between kisses. “An’ I’m never,”  _ kiss _ “leavin ya,”  _ kiss _ “ever.” Another kiss, and Jack’s large, rough, calloused hands were gently running through Crutchie’s messy blonde hair. 

“I love you too, Jack,” Crutchie said. “I love you- _ oh _ .” Jack’s lips had moved from Crutchie’s lips to his neck, but they stopped at Crutchie’s soft exclamation. 

“Do ya want me ta stop?” Jack asked, concern coloring his words, “I won’t do this if ya don’t want me to.” Crutchie groaned and pulled Jack back towards the tender flesh of his neck.

“Jack, I swear ta god, if you stop now, I’m never kissin’ you again,” he threatened. Jack chuckled against his skin. 

“Is that so?” He asked, placing a gentle kiss to Crutchie’s neck, right below his ear. Crutchie nodded. “Well, if that’s the case, I better not risk it,” Jack said. He kissed the spot again, gently nibbling at the soft flesh. Crutchie moaned as he felt a bruise being sucked into the skin. Jack leaned back, admiring his work before pulling Crutchie’s bum leg onto his lap, gently massaging the tight muscles. Crutchie sighed in relief as the pain lessened somewhat. Jack smiled and placed another soft kiss on Crutchie’s lips. 

“Ready for breakfast, beautiful?” He asked. Crutchie nodded. Both boys got dressed, and Crutchie grabbed his crutch, ready to limp down when he felt his legs swept out from under him by strong arms. 

“Jack!” He protested. “I’m fine! I can walk! I’m not that useless.”

“You ain’t useless at all, love,” Jack said, kissing Crutchie softly. “Sometimes I just like carryin’ ya like this. Lets me kiss ya easier.” As if to prove his point, he planted another gentle kiss on Crutchie’s lips. Crutchie smiled. 

“Well, I guess this ain’t  _ too _ bad,” he said. Jack laughed, and carried his lover downstairs for breakfast. Crutchie nuzzled his nose into Jack’s neck. Jack smiled. 

“I love you,” he said. 

“I love you too,” Crutchie said. On the way to the dining room, the pair bumped into Thalia and Joey. Thalia breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Jack.

“You’re okay, thank god,” she said. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jack said. “Are you alright? Ya got outta there without trouble?” Thalia nodded. “Good,” Jack said. 

“Joey, are you alright?” Crutchie joked. Joey laughed. 

“I’m fine,” he said. His expression then turned serious. “You’re okay though, right?” He asked. “You looked pretty rough last night.”

“I’m alright now,” Crutchie said. “Thanks for helping me out.”

“It’s nothing,” Joey said. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“What’s the plan for the demonstration today?” Thalia asked. 

“There’s actually been a change a plans,” Jack said. “I’ll tell ya at breakfast, cuz I need ta tell Spot too, an’ it’s easier just ta explain it once.” Thalia nodded. 

“Makes sense,” she said. They all walked into the dining room, and Thalia immediately went into the adjoining kitchen to help Miss Medda with breakfast. As everyone ate, Jack explained the plan that he and Katherine had come up with the night before. When he finished, Spot leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“So lemme get this straight,” he said. “we’s gonna sneak  _ inta _ Pulitzer’s cellar—the place where we  _ don’t  _ wanna be— with folks we don’t know ta use a printin’ press that might not even work ta get all the child laborers in the city on our side?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. 

“Well, it’s just crazy enough that it might work,” Spot said. “Me an’ my boys are with ya.” Jack grinned. 

“Just outta curiosity, does Race count as your boy or mine?” He asked. Spot smirked.

“Oh, Racer’s  _ definitely _ mine,” he purred, pulling Race into a bruising kiss. “But for these purposes, he’s one a yours.” Jack laughed. 

“That’s what I thought,” he said. 

That evening, the army of Newsboys waited outside Miss Medda’s theater. Katherine came into view, wearing a dark outfit. She was flanked by two men wearing suits and carrying bags. 

“Katherine,” Jack greeted her.

“Jack,” Katherine replied. “These are my friends, Bill Hearst Jr. and Darcy Reid. They’re here to help.” The taller of the two boys stepped forward, holding out his hand to Jack.

“Bill Hearst Jr., at your service,” he said. “And I’m proud to be part of your revolution.” Noticing that Bill’s hand was spit-free, Jack refrained from spitting on his own hand before shaking the other boy’s. 

“I’m Darcy Reid,” the other boy said, stepping forward to shake Jack’s hand as well. “I’ve worked for Pulitzer since I was eight, and that old miser has never given me a raise. I’m ready to make him pay.”

“Bill and Darcy both work in the printing press rooms,” Katherine explained. “They’re going to help us make the  _ Banner _ . Now where was this printing press you told me about?”

“It’s in your daddy’s basement,” Jack replied. “C’mon, follow me.” He led the group to the hidden door he’d found the night before, and opened it. He walked over to the stairs and pulled the chain dangling there. The dim, bare bulb flickered to life, illuminating the printing press. Bill whistled, running his hands over it.

“I can see why this is down here,” he said. “It’s ancient. Folks stopped using these years ago.”

“But you can get it workin’, yeah?” Jack asked nervously. The success or failure of this strike rode on the printing press. Their lives hung in the balance.

“Yeah,” Bill said. “C’mon, Darce. Let’s get this beauty up and running.” Darcy grinned. The two of them pulled aprons from their bags and put them on. They started poking and prodding at the press, preparing it for making the papers. Bill put a sheet of newsprint in and Darcy pulled a lever. The machine began to move, turning the single sheet into a perfectly printed page. The whole room breathed a collective sigh of relief. Bill fed more newsprint into the machine while Darcy handed the printed papers to Katherine, who neatly tied them into bundles of a hundred with twine. As soon as each bundle was done, Jack and Spot would hand it to a newsie, who would run off to deliver the papers. Around midnight, the press stopped.

“What’s wrong with it?” Jack asked. 

“Nothing,” Darcy replied. “We just don’t have any more newsprint. I just hope we’ve made enough. 

“We should have,” Bill said, coming over to stand by Darcy. He held out his hand to Jack once more. “Good luck,” he said. “I hope we’ve been able to help you achieve your goal.” Jack shook his hand.

“I hope so too,” he said.


	21. Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the strike is won

Joseph Pulitzer was furious. The phones in his office had been ringing off the hook all morning, and Hannah, Snyder, and the DeLancey brothers had been frantically telling each caller that Mr. Pulitzer was occupied.

“ENOUGH!” Pulitzer roared. “Who is calling me, and what do they want?!”

“Everyone’s calling you, sir,” Hannah said quietly. “Every newspaper owner and factory manager in the city. Their workers are all striking. The city’s essentially shut down. Not a single child is working today.”

“This has Jack Kelly’s grubby little fingerprints all over it,” Snyder said. “Please, Mr. Pulitzer, let me go find him!”

“Ya don’t need ta look far, Snyder,” a voice said. Jack Kelly came sauntering into the office, flanked by Joey, Thalia, Spot, Race, Crutchie, and Katherine. “I warned ya, Pulitzer,” Jack said, a cocky grin on his face. “Either you gives us our rights, or we gives you a war. You didn’t listen. How’re ya likin’ your war so far, Mr. Pulitzer? You seemed so confident you’d win, but it looks like I’ve got the upper hand.”

“Snyder, arrest them all!” Pulitzer ordered.

“You can’t do that,” Jack said. 

“Oh yes, I can,” Snyder said.

“Oh no, you can’t,” a new voice countered. Everyone turned and went pale, even Jack. Theodore Roosevelt, governor of New York, came striding into the office. “Hello, Joseph,” he said. “I understand you had some…strong opinions about me being elected governor.”

“I— well— how?!” Pulitzer stuttered.

“Oh, I was in town for a meeting, and when I got up this morning, I found this lovely publication waiting on my doorstep,” Roosevelt said, holding up a copy of the  _ Newsie Banner _ . He grinned at Jack. “Hello, young man,” he said. “I understand you and I once shared a carriage ride.” 

“Yes, sir,” Jack said nervously. Roosevelt laughed.

“I’m just happy to help,” he said. Then he turned on Snyder, his gaze hardening. “There’s some interesting information in here about your Refuge, Mr. Snyder,” he said. “Including a wonderful drawing from this young man. I had my staff do some digging, and it seems that the money that the state has been giving you so that you could better take care of those boys has just been going into your pockets. I. A. Snyder, you are hereby under arrest for embezzlement and misappropriation of state funds.” Two policemen walked into the office. One pulled out a pair of handcuffs and started towards Snyder.

“Mr. governor, sir, may I do the honors please?” Crutchie asked.

“Yes, if you want to,” Roosevelt said. He motioned to the officer, who handed Crutchie the handcuffs. Grinning widely, Crutchie limped over to Snyder, slapping the cuffs around his wrists. As the policemen led Snyder out, Crutchie aimed a kick at his backside. Jack and his group laughed as Snyder jumped.

“Now, Joseph,” Roosevelt said. “I suggest you lower the price of papers back down as this young man so reasonably requests, and tell your fellow tycoons to do the same.”

“I can’t,” Pulitzer said. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. Business is business, you have to understand.”

“Fine,” Jack said. “But if the price a papes stays at 60, you gotta buy back any pape we don’t sell at full price.” Pulitzer’s eyes narrowed. 

“What’s to stop you and your boys from buying an excess of papers that you don’t intend to sell?” He asked.

“No newsie’s gonna break his back carryin’ papes he can't sell,” Jack said. “With the price a papes bein’ what it is, no newsie’s gonna spend his hard-earned coin on extra papes, neither. We ain’t like you.” Pulitzer sighed.

“Very well,” he said. “I will agree to your terms.”

“Write it down,” Jack ordered. “So ya can’t go back on your word an’ try ta cheat us.” Pulitzer wrote out the proposal, and he and Jack both signed it. They shook hands, each one seeming just as reluctant to touch the other. 

“It’s done,” Pulitzer said. “Just please stop keeping the city hostage.”

“Alright,” Jack replied. “But just know if ya try an’ pull somethin’ like this again, I’ll gladly shut the place down, an’ that’s a promise.” He left with his group. They left the building, stepping into the bright sunlight where all the other strikers waited. 

“WE WON!” Jack yelled, and the resounding cheer echoed off the buildings. 


	22. History! Front page story, Guts and Glory, I’m the King of New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which expectations are subverted

The celebrations continued late into the night, but finally Joey and Thalia managed to get to bed. When they woke, they were in their pajamas in their hotel room beds. They looked at each other, then down at themselves.

“I just had the craziest hecking dream,” Joey said. 

“It wasn’t a dream,” Thalia said, pointing. The cap that Joey had been wearing hung on the corner of the desk chair, and Thalia’s newsie bag lay on top of her suitcase. 

“Well, there’s only one way to find out for certain,” Joey said. He grabbed his phone and Googled  _ New York newsboy strike 1899 _ . Thalia walked over and sat next to him, peering over his shoulder. Joey clicked on the first picture that popped up. It was an old black and white photo, but Joey and Thalia recognized it immediately as the picture that Katherine had taken for the paper. Sure enough, they saw their own faces grinning back at them, Jack’s arms around their shoulders.

“Well there we have it,” Thalia said. “We made history.”

“And we made friends,” Joey said. Thalia’s stomach growled. 

“Let’s get breakfast,” she said. “All this history-making has made me hungry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with my shameless self-insert fanfiction! I hope you enjoyed reading it!


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